


Enhanced interrogation techniques and their side effects

by melitta4ever



Series: Kinktober 2018 [7]
Category: Strike Back
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Crack, Drugs Made Them Do It, Kinktober 2018, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melitta4ever/pseuds/melitta4ever
Summary: Another job, another danger… another way to get into your partner's pants.For Kinktober 2018, Day 7: aphrodisiac





	Enhanced interrogation techniques and their side effects

White birch trees were donning both sides of the little scenic road as if trying to warm up the crisp morning weather with their fiery-red autumn color. The ground was covered with confetti of leaves with thousand different shades of yellow, red and brown. It was a gorgeous view if Michael had time —and wit— to pay attention to such things. They were supposed to be in a hospital right now, but the closest one was at least 50 miles away. And, Michael couldn't push the EMT truck on this forest track without risking a broken axle.

Damien was moaning at the back, his cries turning more painful by the minute. He had stopped joking around a while ago, and that itself scared Michael the most. He still remembered Damien's ridiculously stupid banter when Michael had had to remove a bullet from the guy's leg at their very first opp. Michael had gotten so used to his partner's  _ laughing at the face of death  _ attitude that the silent acknowledgment of pain was plain terrifying.

After their initial panic, Sinclair had confirmed that there wasn't any antidote for what Scott had gotten infected with. They had to find a hospital with an intensive care unit and put Damien in medically induced coma while waiting for it to pass its course.

“I'm not gonna make it there, buddy,” Damien whined. “This is gonna kill me or cripple my junk… I don't know which is worse.”

“Stop talking nonsense!” Though Michael suspected that Damien actually valued his dangly bits more than his life.

“You know, you can actually help me, Mikey.” He sounded breathless and Michael got worried what the guy had been doing back there. “I can't really reach it, but you can.”

_ The fuck? _

“I know you can hear me, Michael. Come on, buddy. A pity fuck if you wanna call that.”

“I'm not gonna fuck you.”  _ Christ _ ! They had  managed to get away from the clutches of Dr fucking Evil by the skin of their teeth and now this? “Especially not when you're under influence, mate.”

There was another grunt from the back, more due to frustration than anything, then Scott moaned some more.

“Fuck!” he screamed, like someone was cutting him. “My balls are gonna explode soon.” 

Barely evading a suicide prone deer, Michael gained back the control of the truck, unfortunately not without a terrible clash from the back.

“Or you could kill us both.” Scott climbed to the front, completely naked. “If you prefer dying over fucking me.”

“Just cut it about fucking, alright? Ain't fucking my delirious partner on the side of the road.”

“If I told you it's nothing new.”

“What?” He tried not starting but Scott's balls looked like ripe avocados; definitely plural, probably even darker in color. The skin stretched tight over them, ready to burst with a touch of a thistle. “Shit, mate!” Michael's own hurt just looking at them.

“They feel worse,” said Scott aware of where Michael's gaze was. “I'm serious, Mikey. Yeah the drug probably makes me talk about it like it's yesterday's news, but I've been carrying the torch for you since forever.”

Great. Hallucinations too. Sinclair hadn't mentioned that.

“I’d’ve kneeled before you, right there the first night if I wasn’t in a hurry to save my life, buddy.”

He spoke with a honey-glazed voice and if Michael didn't know how much it hurt, he would have thought Scott was whacking off. 

“In that seedy motel room, you looked like a fucking knight, lost his way in the lower town.” 

Yeah, Scott was definitely playing with something; but with his ass, not his prick.

“You were glowing in that fighting pit, buddy. Walked around like you had a fucking halo on your head. Like Saint Michael walking around mere mortals...” 

Correction, religious hallucinations. This was a serious shit. Damn it, Sinclair! Michael would really appreciate a complete analysis of the situation, just for fucking once. 

“I would've sucked you right there, in front of all those fuckers... just to touch your fucking cock... Oh, Mikey. You'd feel so fucking good in me right now.”

Michael run a hand over his face, trying to concentrate on the road and the crazy critters that had claimed the forest track as their turf, playing chicken with a speeding EMT truck. 

“We have half hour at most, mate.” He tried to calm Damien, though his voice smelled like a lie even to himself.

“You remember the time you manhandled me when I went to your house and had breakfast with Kerry?” 

Like Michael could ever forget that scare when Kerry had invited a fucking mercenary —Damien had been nothing more back then— into their home, in her sleepwear too. 

“I got a fucking boner on that wall, buddy and I was terrified that you'd feel it while jerking me around.”

Michael hoped this wasn't some roundabout way of Scott confessing that he had had hots for his dead wife.

“How jealous I got when I realized you were fucking someone in the squad that wasn't me.”

Michael tried to tune him out, concentrating on driving and breathing. It wasn't easy. Especially, when Damien's voice took that agonized tone again.

“Just once, Mikey. Please, I'm begging here. I've seen your middle-leg, buddy. It'll do with just one fuck alone. Oh, you'd feel amazing in me...” On and on and fucking on…

Unfortunately, he couldn't ignore Damien any longer when one of the bigger holes on the road became their last one; breaking the axle and stopping their trip 30 miles short.

“Fuck!” Michael could barely move the truck to the side, not that there was any traffic to speak of on this road to nowhere.

“Just fucking kill me.” Damien begged, eyes full of tears. Now that he could actually pay attention, Michael realized how fucking bad Damien looked. A thin layer of sweat was covering every inch of his body, lips were bitten bloody, nails had gorged crimson holes in his palms and… Fuck! His dick was covered with boils and blisters, some were the remnants of his torture session before Michael had got to him... He wasn't going to make it.

“Let's move back.” He grabbed Damien and half carried him to the back of the truck, onto the ambulance cot.

“You know about the prostate, buddy?” asked Damien, realizing his incessant begging had finally worked.

“In theory, yes,” Michael answered truthfully while jacking off to make sure he actually could fuck. 

“Let me ride you, then.” Scott pushed him onto the cot. “I'll be the best cowgirl, you ever had, buddy. That's a fucking promise.” 

He, then, climbed on top of Michael and pushed Michael's barely hard dick inside his ass. Luckily it was slick enough with whatever Damien had found when he had been alone here.

Michael was glad Damien took the lead because this was the first time he was pushing in the back door. His size had usually scared his previous partners who were all petite women. Damien was not petite. He wasn't gentle either. He fucked himself hard on Michael's dick, thrusting down like he was dishing out punishment. Kate had not been a fragile partner either, but Damien was a force of nature. Michael needed to brace himself for impact every time the guy fucked himself down.

Luckily, Damien's fuse was rather short; he spluttered his jizz —without touching his dick— in less than a minute, grinding his ass on Michael's hips throughout his release.

“Fuck! Sweet fucking Jesus!” Damien collapsed on Michael's chest. “I knew your cock was what I needed, buddy.” He raised his head, looking at Michael. At least his eyes looked a little less crazy. Maybe. “Can we… Can I… continue?”

Like he hadn't already started twerking over Michael's dick. 

“Go ahead.” said Michael, restarting his most bizarre shagging to date.

It was only seconds after his orgasm but Damien was again fucking himself hard, without respite. At least, he wasn't as frantic and crazed as the first time. He was a bit more playful too, Michael realized, while trying to brace his abdomen for the impact of 200 pounds of muscle. Damien's left hand was on the built in shelf on the truck’s side panel, using it as a fulcrum to power his thrusts. His right hand was on his own nipple, squeezing it between his fingers with a moan that would put porn stars to shame.

Since Michael's dick had found its way to complete hardness inside Damien, he wasn't doing anything for this bizzare act of love, other than holding his abs tight to avoid a sucker punch. He decided to lend a hand to Damien and took that lonesome left nipple between his fingers. It was already pebbled, perking up and out, looking for trouble like its owner. When he gave it a reluctant squeeze, Damien couldn't wait to inform him about the absolute awesomeness of the act by a slur of curses and screams. 

Soon, Damien was holding the shelves on the both sides and fucking himself like he was doing rodeo and asking Michael to  _ pull them fucking harder _ . Michael pulled and twisted and squeezed them, harder and harder… Until Damien came with another violent orgasm, his nipples stretched out of his chest with Michael's nails biting into them. Michael let go of the tortured skin when Damien's jizz hit him on the face. Damien's nipps had lost their color, almost white and deformed under Michael's ministrations. 

“Fuuuuuck!” The sudden rush of blood to his nipples must be excruciating because Damien danced on his dick like a slaughtered animal. A dance that made Michael's dick very happy regardless of the awkwardness of the situation.

Damien lay on top of him; sweating like it was August and breathing like he was a racehorse.

“That was great, buddy,” he managed to say between heavy gasps. “Fuck me! That was fucking awesome.” His hips were not resting though, they kept rolling in lazy circles around Michael's dick which, by now, got really interested in emptying his own load too.

So, Michael had been expecting it when Damien had rested enough to get his voice back and started begging for the third time.

“I swear this is the last time,” he added, not unlike an addict trying to convince himself before just one more hit. “Fuck! your dick feels fucking perfect in me.”

The charm didn't come out for the third time though probably because Damien’s legs must have realized they were not a machine. Damien was still trying though, not really getting the message.

“Go on.” Michael pushed him to the side. “Get on the bed, doggy style.”

Damien's hairy ass with a large set of balls hanging underneath looked as far away from a woman's as one could get, but Michael didn't find it repulsive to push his dick in. The way the tiny opening furled open was almost hypnotizing to watch. It accepted his dick like a fucking second coming —yeah, puns— and his dick was happy, so was Michael. 

Michael tried to find Damien's prostate, but it was a lost cause; he just couldn't figure out the puzzle, not when Damien was moaning and twitching and fucking himself back on Michael. Not when Damien kept asking for harder, and then, for even harder.

Forgoing the futile search for the  _ holy grain _ , Michael instead started fucking Damien within an inch of his life. Holding the plump arse in a death grip, he thrusted into him like a jackhammer. Damien’s broad hips were pillowing his thrusts, pressing back in an attempt to ask for more. He was built like a bear, this man, he could fucking take whatever Michael was dishing out. And if Michael had any concerns of hurting his partner, Damien's very enthusiastic screams had completely erased them. 

When Damien came for the third time, Michael followed him right behind, emptying himself inside Damien's gut. 

Michael slumped down on the floor, the cot was too small for both of them. This was a rigorous exercise even for Michael's SBS enhanced stamina and he couldn't comprehend how Damien had enough energy to even breathe after his third orgasm. The guy's screams, which had become guttural and hoarse toward the end, were still ringing in Michael's ears.

“You alright?” he asked, even though the possibility of Damien asking for more scared him a little.

“Fuck me…” gasped Damien, with that well fucked voice of his.

“Not anytime soon, mate.”

“Heh… I think it's over for—” He raised his head up, “Shit! We're not alone.”

Michael grabbed his pistol first, and then listened…

“Shit!” It was Sinclair.

“We're waiting here until you're both decent,” the Major said right outside of the truck; snickering like a schoolboy who witnessed something naughty for the first time.

 

* * *

 

The hotel room was decorated with warm red tones, mirroring the beautiful fall foliage outside. Unfortunately, the smell was nowhere near the real thing, but the usual AC filtered, lousy hotel scent that was somehow universal across the globe. At least, his bed smelled nice; each time he rolled, a beautiful mix of lavender and jasmine wafted out of the soft cotton sheets. And tonight, Michael tossed and turned a lot.

It was a well-known joke, joining the Navy and seeing the world… Michael was sure he had seen his most bizarre share of the world today: An aphrodisiac based drug for enhanced interrogations. Everyone had assumed Michael was exposed to the drug too, shagging in the truck on the side of the road to get rid of its effect. Michael didn't correct them, neither did Damien. 

  
  


The knock on his door was so soft that Michael wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't awake. As he had expected, it was Damien.

“Is it the drug?” asked Michael, watching Damien walk inside uncharacteristically silent.

“If I say yes, would it help your decision?”

Michael watched Damien. Showered, dressed in casual t-shirt and jeans... he didn't look anything like the sex crazed man in the morning. The very man who had confessed Michael his love in hysterical outbursts fed by an interrogation stimulant.

“I think I'm inclined to believe the long term effects,” he said and pulled Damien into a kiss. 

The end

 


End file.
